Bad Hair Day

Sunday I treated myself to something rare. I went to the salon and had a professional cut & color. I looked forward to it for over a week. I hadn’t cut my hair in months and hadn’t had my hair professionally colored in more than a year. The lady that does my hair is a sweet Chinese woman. She speaks English fairly well, but occasionally we have difficulties communicating. When I sat in the chair, I explained how I wanted more blonde highlights. (My blue streaks had faded to a pretty golden color & I wanted the same but all over my head.)  She looked at my hair and saw that I had two shades of red, blonde and one small faded blue streak and explained I should have a base coat & then highlights as it would look much better. 

I agreed and then we looked at different colors for the base coat. The color I wanted she thought was too light and after a bit of discussion, I decided she was the expert and I would go with what she thought best. It was a mistake. After more than five hours, I ended up with the darkest brown hair (I had never been that color in my life) and only 3 or 4 small blonde streaks in my hair. I was disappointed and shocked at seeing this new person in the mirror. She could sense the disappointment and told me I could come back later in the week for more highlights free of charge if I wanted. I thanked her, left the building and then cried all the way home.

I cried and then cried because I was crying. And the damn broke. I cried because my marriage was over. I cried because I couldn’t seem to find a job. I cried because my mom was going through chemotherapy and I couldn’t be there to hold her hand and her hair back when she got sick. I cried because I missed my son (Luke is in Texas for the summer) and I cried because I felt ugly.

And because it was easier to focus on, I stopped crying for all the right reasons and focused on the ugly. Having spent 5 years in a marriage where I was repeatedly rejected, I was very sensitive to not feeling attractive. My husband let his affection stop at holding my hand or an occassional kiss. A small kiss - nothing lingering. When I asked him to kiss me more, he would tell me he felt awkward kissing me. He didn’t want to be intimate. He didn’t want a relationship beyond one of being a co-parent. And it hurt. It hadn’t always been that way between us and I couldn’t understand what caused the change. But it started when I was pregnant with our first son together. I internalized it and on a deep level thought it was because I wasn’t pretty enough, thin enough, sexy enough. Being rejected for that long takes a toll on a woman.

I thought I had learned it was something that was wrong with him. I thought I realized it wasn’t me. But with the hair, and the fear that it made me look older and not as pretty, the fear gripped me in a way I couldn’t verbalize to those around me who love me. It’s an irrational fear. And it’s something I need to work on. I wish I knew how. 

I’ve been working with Jennifer Priest for some time now and she always seems to help me focus and bring my attention back to what I’m doing right and what I can do to be even better. We talked some about this fear of something being wrong with me in my last session. She pointed out all the things I’ve done, how courageous I am and how I’m really doing well, all things considered. And she encouraged me to take care of myself. To find some way, no matter how small, to take care of myself every day.

I suppose I need to get back to that. Today, I feel stuck at a wall. I know I need to get over the wall. I know there are ways to get around the wall, but I’m not really sure how I’m going to do it. I think it starts with looking in the mirror and loving me. Not just the image I see, but the soul I am. I wish I had something deeper, more philosophical to say about it.

But today, I just need the comfort of good friends. I have a feeling connecting with that comfort will be all I need to find the strength to face the wall tomorrow and start climbing.